


Quicksilver

by a_bowl_of_peaches



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age of Ultron, Cradle Healing, Fix-it fic, Gen, Mentions of Canon Typical Violence in Flashbacks, Spoilers, Superpowers, my first time posting here, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:09:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3936235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_bowl_of_peaches/pseuds/a_bowl_of_peaches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pietro's powers had yet to fail him in any situation. Getting shot multiple times? Please.<br/>(Because I deny Pietro Maximoff’s death as forcefully as I deny Tadashi Hamada’s death.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quicksilver

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all!  
> This whole oneshot is just a guilty pleasure thing and an excuse for me to figure out the formatting and tags, but I still had fun writing it ^_^. I welcome comments, so feel free to leave some.
> 
> Also, I don't own anything Avengers (-wistful sigh- if only...)
> 
> Enjoy the story!

         He woke to nothing.

 

         Well, not exactly nothing. Dim light, bluish and cool. Air rushing against his exposed skin, every inch of skin. He was naked. He blinked, reaching up a hand, hoping to find something, anything really.

 

         He had barely raised his arm when his knuckles struck something hard and unyielding.

 

         _He’s back under his bed, the old mattress sagging and pressing into his back under the weight of rubble. Wanda is underneath him, and he’s so afraid he’ll crush her before the building does, before the shell can go off._

_He stares at the logo, at STARK printed black and bold, and trembles when the brick shifts and press down._

_They are going to be buried alive._

 

         He screamed.

 

         Far away a woman’s voice started shouting in a language he didn’t know. It was a familiar sound, like he had heard it in a nightmare once. There was another voice, equally familiar, maybe a little more so, but he ignored it and punched at the too-close metal in front of his face.

 

         He had to get out.

 

         He thrashed, ignoring the stabbing pains burning through his chest, his stomach, his legs. Everything hurt, but he kicked wildly at whatever surrounded him, trying to move his legs faster. He was speed incarnate, he was Pietro Maximoff, he was Wanda’s twin brother, and he was _not_ going to settle for lying still while they locked him in this tomb.

 

         He screamed again and thought he would go deaf from the piercing sound.

 

         _“HEY!_ Hey, hey, hey, kid, can you hear me in there?” Something pattered near his face and he recoiled, chest heaving, trying to make sense of it all.

 

         “Easy, kid, easy,” the voice continued, slow and gentle, almost a croon. He kicked out once in curious defiance. There was an answering slap. “Well, he’s still a brat.”

 

         Pietro wanted to snap a retort, but his throat was too raw and he couldn’t catch his breath. The tapping turned rhythmic, like a heartbeat just beyond his face.

 

         “Go back to sleep, kid,” the voice ordered. He wanted to tell its owner that he would do no such thing. Where was his sister, where was he, what was going on?

 

         But the quiet thumping was enough to ease him into a tenuous calm, and he didn’t have the energy to ignore the pull of sleep.

 

**~***~**

 

         When he woke up again, the light was a little brighter and it didn’t hurt to move, nor did he feel a feral need to. He pressed his palm flat against metal, feeling a seam along its center. Not a coffin, not rubble; a container, meant to open.

 

         He patted it, hoping someone on the other side would answer. He heard a scuffling and saw a shadow loom over him. He blinked and pressed his palm flat to the surface above him. The shadow moved and something pressed down from the other side.

 

         “How ya doing in there, speedy?”

 

         He knew that voice now. It was the one with the arrows, the one who had been so kind to Wanda when his sister was crumbling on the battlefield. He licked his dry lips and forced sound to move over his tongue, but only managed a raspy sigh.

 

         “That good, huh?” He watched Hawkeye move to sit down, the hand never leaving the top of whatever he was in. “Let me catch you up. Do you remember Sokovia?”

 

         _Metal men everywhere, their king more than mad. The ground shifting and cracking under his feet, rising into the air. People screaming and crying. Fighting, fighting, running faster and longer. Hawkeye saving a child, curling around him as bullets pocked the concrete. Moving something, a car, to protect them. The bullets moving too quick for him._

_A child’s dark eyes and nothing._

 

         Pietro grunted an affirmative, feeling the healed bullet holes throb.

 

         “I’ll take that as a yes. Long story short, Stark and Thor found a way to destroy the city after we got everyone off. Ultron is gone for good, and your sister is a part of the new Avengers. You’ve been in what Dr. Cho calls the Cradle,” the hand thumped twice, “for about two weeks now.” He heard a breathless laugh. “You were dead, kid. But your metabolism was still going, so you had healed enough for us to revive you.”

 

         Well at least he had something to thank Strucker for.

 

         “Cho says you can come out in a couple days, all right? Something to look forward to. You’ll be good as new.”

 

         He managed to hum and dip his head, closing his eyes. A couple of days? No, he would be out sooner.

 

         His powers vibrated through his bones, his heart pounding. The world slowed around him, and Pietro let himself drift in the resulting silence.

 

**~***~**

 

         “This is nice,” Pietro commented, spinning in a circle with his hands in his pockets. The light streamed in through the glass walls, illuminating all the dark corners of the room.

 

         “This is where your sister has been training,” Hawkeye explained, putting a hand on his shoulder. “And if we timed this right, she should be getting out right about…”

 

         A pair of doors on the other side of the room slid open and Wanda walked through them. She looked… so much healthier than he remembered, less haunted. Her cheeks were full of color, her skin having lost its pallor. Her hair was wavy and brushed, thick instead of thin. Her eyes weren’t big spots of darkness in her hollow face, but bright and pretty and just a little distant. He didn't like the distance and sought to correct it.

 

         _Wanda!_

 

         He let the thought skip over to her like a rock over water, knowing the ripples would catch her attention. She lifted her gaze, and he watched her eyes go round and her mouth fall open and saw her reach out to him.

 

         _Pietro!_

 

         He didn’t use his powers to run to her, savoring every second as his twin got closer, every single one of her footfalls. He lifted her off the ground and her hands were clawing into his shirt, gripping the fabric, nails biting into his skin. He pushed his nose into her curls and shivered, little zips of silver mingling with the red swirling around her. Her powers hummed and crackled over his skin, almost tickling. They were warm and bright, and he hummed and pressed his nose deeper into her hair.

 

         “I thought I lost you,” she whispered into his shoulder. She wasn’t crying, she was too strong and too proud to cry, but he held her tighter anyway. “It was like my heart was ripped out, Pietro. I thought I had to live without you.”

 

         So the frantic pain he had felt hadn’t just been his. He shivered at the memory, remembering how the Cradle had stifled his screams. Wanda poked at the memory, curious. He ignored her prodding and pushed her powers away with a toss of his head.

 

         “What, like I would leave my little sister all alone?” he teased, ruffling her hair. Her powers tingled like pins and needles as her lips pulled into a scowl. He took her hand, grinning, relishing in the warmth of her fingers when she squeezed his palm.

 

         “Technically you were dead for thirteen minutes,” Hawkeye commented from the wall. Pietro stiffened, grin going fixed. “So I guess that makes _her_ the older one now.”

 

         “…He is an old man,” Pietro blurted. But Wanda’s frown was turning into one of her cat smiles, wide and predatory. “His memory, it is not as sharp as his arrows. Wanda, _Wanda,_ listen to me!”

 

         “Of course, _little brother,”_ she cooed, patting his cheek. Pietro shot Hawkeye a look that promised death. “Now, come, I have much to show you.” Her glee softened, tempered by sadness. “You have missed a lot, Pietro.”

 

         He laughed, because Wanda had suffered enough and didn’t need any more reasons to be sad.

 

         “I am quick learner,” he promised, darting around the room. It was as much for fun as it was to show her he really was all right. When she smiled again, red was licking around her pupils, and he felt her nuzzle against his mind like a kitten.

 

         “Oh, and another thing.” He threw her over a shoulder, ignoring her shriek. “You might be older now, but I am still taller.”

 

         “ _Pietro!”_

 

         He laughed and blurred away, his twin’s giggling just behind him.


End file.
